“I wonder you didn’t try to serve some of the Irish out,” said I.
“I served one out, brother; and my wife and childer helped to wipe off a little of the score. We had stopped on a nice green, near a village over the hills in Glamorganshire, when up comes a Hindity family, and bids us take ourselves off. Now it so happened that there was but one man and a woman and some childer, so I laughed, and told them to drive us off. Well, brother, without many words, there was a regular scrimmage. The Hindity mush came at me, the Hindity mushi at my juwa, and the Hindity chaves at my chai. It didn’t last long, brother. In less than three minutes I had hit the Hindity mush, who was a plaguey big fellow, but couldn’t fight, just under the point of the chin, and sent him to the ground with all his senses gone. My juwa had almost scratched an eye out of the Hindity mushi, and my chai had sent the Hindity childer scampering over the green. ‘Who has got to quit now?’ said I to the Hindity mush after he had got on his legs, looking like a man who has been cut down after hanging just a minute and a half. ‘Who has got notice to quit now, I wonder?’ Well, brother, he didn’t say anything, nor did any of them, but after a little time they all took themselves off, with a cart they had, to the south. Just as they got to the edge of the green, however, they turned round and gave a yell which made all our blood cold. I knew what it meant, and said, ‘This is no place for us.’ So we got everything together and came away, and, though the horses were tired, never stopped till we had got ten miles from the place; and well it was we acted as we did, for, had we stayed, I have no doubt that a whole Hindity clan would have been down upon us before morning and cut our throats.”
“Well,” said I, “farewell. I can’t stay any longer. As it is, I shall be late at Gutter Vawr.”
“Farewell, brother!” said Captain Bosvile; and, giving a cry, he cracked his whip and set his horses in motion.
“Won’t you give us sixpence to drink?” cried Mrs. Bosvile, with a rather, shrill voice.
“Hold your tongue, you she-dog,” said Captain Bosvile. “Is that the way in which you take leave of an old friend? Hold your tongue, and let the Ingrine gentleman jaw on his way.”
I proceeded on my way as fast as I could, for the day was now closing in. My progress, however, was not very great; for the road was steep, and was continually becoming more so. In about half-an-hour I came to a little village, consisting of three or four houses; one of them, at the door of which several carts were standing, bore the sign of a tavern.
“What is the name of this place?” said I to a man who was breaking stones on the road.
“Capel Gwynfa,” said he.
Rather surprised at the name, which signifies in English the Chapel of the place of bliss, I asked the man why it was called so.